Infiltrator t2-1

by S. M. Stirling

  “Strange, how?” John asked. Was it getting off the cana?he wondered. D.t.‘s or some shit like that? ‘Cause he didn’t know if he could handle it if it was. Did you just lock them in a closet with a bag of candy and hope for the best, or what?

  “This guy came in today to pick up a shipment and, John”—she looked him in the eye—“I swear to you, he was the spitting image of a Terminator.”

  John shook his head. “You’re—”

  “He had a beard, and his accent was less noticeable, but otherwise he looked exactly like a Terminator.”

  Sarah tightened her lips; it was obvious he was having trouble believing her.

  They stared at one another for a long minute, and then John shook his head as though to clear it.

  “Doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” he said. “Skynet may have made the Terminators up to look like pictures it had on file. It had to get those faces from someplace, right? So it doesn’t have to be a threat, right?”

  “We didn’t stay alive and out of jail by treating something that looked like a threat as if it wasn’t one,” Sarah reminded him. “I don’t want this to mean anything either, but we can hardly afford to bury our heads in the sand. Right?”

  “What happened?” John asked, holding up his hands in a slow-down gesture.

  “Exactly.”

  So she told him. “He was definitely human,” she finished. “While he was looking for me this stray dog came along and fell in love with him. And he took the time to pet it and talk to it, and it followed him home.”

  John spluttered a laugh. “It followed him home? That doesn’t sound like a Terminator, does it?”

  She gave her son a steely look. “Except he looked just like one. What’s more”—

  why hadn’t she told him this in the first place?—“he’s moved in right next door to us.”

  John’s face smoothed into a neutral expression. He said nothing.

  Sarah bit her lower lip. I should have told him yesterday, she thought. But I didn’t want to seem like I was overreacting. She told him about the research she’d been able to do so far. “I don’t want to panic or anything, but it might be time we moved on,” she said, and started toward the house. “Maybe we’ve been getting too comfortable.”

  John trotted to catch up with her and tugged at her arm, stopping her. “Mom,” he said. “Let’s not overreact here. Right now we don’t really know anything about this guy. At least nothing bad. Let’s find out who he is first, because if he is trouble and we panic and go running for our lives, that could bring him down on us.”

  “I am not in a panic,” she protested. “I’m saying that—”

  “It’s not a good idea to get too settled, a rolling stone gathers no moss, we can’t afford to get complacent and all that sensible-sounding shit. But I say we can’t afford to go off half-cocked. Who is this guy and is he, in fact, any threat to us?

  If you don’t know your enemy how can you defend yourself against him, right?”

  John looked at her, a determined look in his eyes.

  Sarah’s face turned cold. She took a breath to speak and John held up his hand.

  “I’m not saying I won’t go. I’m not stupid, Mom, and I would never do anything that might end with you back in an institution. But I am not going to give up everything we’ve worked so hard for because you’re having a bad day.”

  “Hey!” Sarah said, taken aback.

  John hung his head. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  “You should be!” She turned away and started back to the house. I’ve had worse days than this and kept my head! she thought. Then she stopped as an image of von Rossbach came to her. “He has cop’s eyes, John,” she said. “You’re right, I am having a bad day or I would have seen it sooner.”

  “Cop’s eyes?” John said. The phrase sent a chill through him—he knew exactly what she meant, had known since he was a very little kid. “So what was he picking up, Mom?”

  “Sperm,” she said, and started walking again.

  ” What?” John screwed up his face into a confused knot. “Did you say ‘sperm’?”

  “Cattle sperm, from the U.S.,” Sarah said over her shoulder.

  “How old was he?” John asked, catching up to her again. “Maybe he’s retired.”

  “A retired cop might be the most dangerous kind,” she said thoughtfully. “He’d have time on his hands, and probably be bored out of his skull, and he’d have contacts to ask for further information.”

  “Our cover story’s pretty airtight, though, isn’t it?” John asked.

  He knew it was, he’d worked on it himself at odd moments. And if I do say so myself it’s very good. Just enough information, not too much, that was the key.

  As for people who used to know them in Ciudad del Este, the city was growing and changing so fast even he had trouble finding people they knew there. And those people had been well paid to remember them and their sad circumstances.

  Sarah gave a weary sigh. “Yes, our background should pass muster.” It should, she’d worked hard enough on it. Most of the work had involved undoing some of John’s airier flights of fancy.

  “So,” John concluded, “we should be okay for at least a couple of weeks. Sooo,

  we find out about this guy.”

  “I’ll just check with my extensive social connections,” Sarah said sarcastically.

  “Mom, you don’t have any social connections.”

  “Thanks for reminding me, O fruit of my loins.”

  John shuddered dramatically. “Eeuww! Mom, that’s gross. No, I’ll check my extensive social contacts; you check your extensive underworld connections. If he’s a cop they’ll know about him. Working together, we’ll come up with something.”

  Sarah grinned, feeling better for having spoken to her son. My ally, she thought with a surge of affection. “Okay,” she said. “We’ll check him out before we act.

  But get used to the idea that we might have to go.”

  “Don’t worry, Mom, I can have my coin collection packed up in five minutes and be ready to roll.”

  “Good to know,” she said, and put an arm around him. She blinked in surprise.

  It’s a little disturbing to put your arm around your son and find yourself reaching up, she thought.

  “What?” he asked.

  She switched to putting her arm around his waist. “It’s just that you’re growing up.”

  “Aw, Mom!” John rolled his eyes.

  She started up the stairs to the house. “What do you want for dinner?” she asked.

  “Meat!” he rumbled in a deep, deep voice.

  “No problemo, pumpkin.”

  “Pumpkin? What happened to ‘you’re growing up’?”

  She opened the screen door, then looked at him over her shoulder. “I had to take the wind out of your sails before your ego flew away with you.”

  He came in after her wearing a sappy smile. “A boy’s best friend is his mother,”

  he said.

  “And don’t you forget it, bucko. Go wash up, dinner in half an hour.” John gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and went down the hall. Sarah watched him go with mixed emotions. She didn’t want to uproot them; she knew he’d mind it this time. Sarah allowed herself a sigh. Then it was time to stoke up the barbecue.

  As long as I don’t feel like I’m the one turning on a spit I should be fine, she thought.

  CHAPTER SIX

  CYBERDYNE SYSTEMS: THE PRESENT

  Tricker took his time reading over Serena Burns’s resume as she sat across the desk awaiting his attention. For someone her age it was impressive, but then, so was the lady herself. He’d already read it, of course. Not only read it, but

  investigated it, assigning one or two underlings to go out and interview the exalted persons who had bestowed such glowing recommendations.

  Curiously enough, it seemed that very few people in those companies had ever interacted with Ms. Burns in her capacity as head of security, assistant head
of security, acting, associate, trainee, or any other job title in the corporate security name game. Except for the bosses, she was the incredible, invisible woman.

  Which must have been a tough stunt for an incredibly sexy, leggy, gorgeous blonde to pull off.

  He was rereading her resume now to see how she would react to being ignored.

  She was reacting by focusing her attention on him with such aggressive intensity that he felt in serious danger of reacting himself. He hadn’t blushed since he was twenty, but he felt one coming on now.

  “So,” he said finally, laying down the last page and raising his eyes to meet hers.

  “Very impressive, Ms. Burns.”

  She looked amused, in a way that implied they shared a secret. Possibly the fact that they both knew she was too good for Cyberdyne to pass up. “I’ve been very fortunate in my employment,” she said. “I had excellent mentors and”—her eyes went distant, as though she were remembering—“we had some interesting times while I was with them.”

  Uh-hunh! Tricker thought. Now there’s a statement that’s open to interpretation.

  “Well, oddly enough, not many people seem to remember you at your old jobs,”

  he said.

  Serena elegantly shrugged one trim shoulder. “I deliberately kept a very low profile. There are times when the obvious cop on the corner is a good idea and others when it’s not. Some corporate spies are incredibly clever. I find it’s much easier to catch them if you’ve convinced them that you’re not even around.”

  She offered him a pleasant but impersonal smile. He hadn’t reacted well to her so far. She wondered if that ignoring-the-interviewee-while-you-read-their-CV ploy ever worked. And if it did, what good was it? As far as she was concerned all they’d accomplished was to waste twenty minutes.

  The job was hers if she wanted it, he had to know that. If he turned her down she would hit Cyberdyne with a very noisy discrimination suit, which she would almost certainly win. Something she was willing to bet Mr. Tricker knew. And she was also willing to bet that the last thing he, or Cyberdyne, wanted, now or ever, was noise in their vicinity.

  But she could be vastly more patient than this fellow could imagine. So she’d play his little game, answer his questions, fill out more forms, and take a battery of tests if required. She’d win in the end.

  “Your career is remarkable,” Tricker said, rubbing his chin. “But your stay at each company was also remarkably short. Care to comment on that?”

  No, she thought.

  This is where her apparent age was a problem. It had required her seemingly to hopscotch from one job to another in an alarmingly rapid manner. But there was no help for it, she was going to appear to be twenty-five for a very long time, so the dates were close together. Eventually she would pretend to be a young-looking thirty, once there she’d worry. For now, she had to get this position.

  “I was acquiring my skills,” she said, crossing her legs. “Once a position had taught me all I thought it could, I moved on.”

  He noticed her legs, as she’d meant him to. Very nice. This woman would be a cat among the pigeons here at Cyberdyne. Some of these computer geeks would sell their souls just to have coffee with her. And she’d implied that some of her upward mobility had come about from her “horizontal agility.” Problems like that he didn’t need.

  “What we’re looking for here at Cyberdyne is someone who will be with us for the long haul,” Tricker said, closing the folder on her application. “I don’t feel it’s in our best interests to hire someone who might be lured away by the candy of a new experience.”

  Serena was annoyed. Clearly she’d misread this man, but everything so far had been so easy. That’s no excuse for getting sloppy, she scolded herself. For once a human had reacted to her sexually and yet kept that response separate from his reasoning faculty. She hadn’t been here in the early years of the century for long, but she hadn’t found that capacity to be common among men.

  “But a job like this one is exactly what I’ve been honing my skills for,” she said.

  “An opportunity to establish a security system from the ground up is less common than you might think. I have a lot of ideas for Cyberdyne that I believe will keep it, its products, and its scientists safe and happy.”

  “Nothing like a happy product,” Tricker said brightly.

  Serena grinned. “Happy scientists then—or at least contented. These geniuses are very touchy and genuinely hate anything that might restrict them or smacks of Big Brother. But obviously the company has to keep them safe from such threats as kidnapping”—she paused significantly— “or murder. I think I’ve got a way to please everybody without rocking the boat.”

  Yeah? Tricker thought cynically. Well, you may be super-babe, but even you can’t sleep with all of the people all of the time. “Do tell,” he invited.

  Serena shook her head. “That wouldn’t be in my best interests.”

  Tricker nodded affably. “Maybe not,” he agreed. “But it wouldn’t be in our best interests to hire someone who might be gone in six months.”

  “Hire me,” she said, leaning forward, her gaze locked on his. “If I leave in under two years I’ll agree to pay you a kill fee, substantial enough to cover your search for a new applicant. If you decide to fire me after six months you won’t even have to pay me a severance check. I want this job, and I can make a difference here.”

  Serena leaned back, still exuding a confidence she didn’t quite feel. For some reason this human had taken a dislike to her and she couldn’t think why, or exactly what to do about it. The obvious solution, killing him, might not be the best in this case.

  Though his attitude did make it tempting.

  Tricker looked at her, taken aback. That was quite an offer she was ponying up.

  Still… “We’ll certainly take that into consideration,” he said brightly, patting her

  file. He rose and offered her his hand. “We’ll be in touch, one way or the other.”

  Serena shook his hand, taking brief pleasure in knowing she could crush it to a wet pulp. “Thank you, Mr. Tricker.”

  “Just Tricker,” he said.

  She nodded. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you.” On that note, she picked up her briefcase and left without a backward glance.

  As Serena walked to the parking lot she reran the interview, Tricker’s image making a faint overlay on the scene around her. She was looking for the exact moment when she’d blown it. For blown it she had. If he’d been undecided before meeting her, he was no longer. From this point on he’d be actively opposed to hiring her.

  “We had some interesting times while I was with them,” the recording said, her voice sounding dreamy. His face remained impassive, but he blinked. That was the moment, she decided. That implication had worked very well with Colvin and Warren, but to Tricker it had sent up a warning flag.

  She frowned; failure loomed, and all over an offhand remark made to the wrong person. Now she could only hope that the president and CEO’s support and her impulsive offer would sway him in her favor. For she felt with certainty that Tricker had the final say here.

  Perhaps I can think of some way to eliminate my rivals, she thought. Preferably in the form of better job offers rather than assassination. Things are so complicated here!

  “I don’t see how you can object to her,” the CEO complained. “Ms. Burns is perfect for this job.”

  “Hey, Colvin,” Tricker said, his eyebrows raised, “what she is is a perfect thirty-eight, twenty-four, thirty-six, and a natural blonde, or I miss my guess.”

  “I was referring to her resume,” Colvin said through his teeth.

  “Sure you were, Roger.” Tricker sneered.

  “Is her body your only objection?” Warren asked with a curl of his lip.

  “Hey, guys.” Tricker leaned forward. “Why don’t we pretend our dicks are in the cafeteria huddled over cups of coffee and sniggering about Ms. Burns’s assets and let our brains take over t
his discussion?

  “Have you two actually considered those glowing recommendations, or the scant time she put in to earn them? Doesn’t it seem the least bit suspicious to you that only one or two people at these places seem to have even been aware of her existence?”

  Warren and Colvin glanced at each other, then at Tricker.

  “Well, don’t you?” Tricker’s blue eyes fairly bulged with frustration. “Are you trying to tell me that you’d forget working in the same building with that woman?”

  “Nooo,” Colvin said thoughtfully.

  “Tricker”—Warren folded his hands before him—“you can’t refuse to hire someone on the suspicion that she might have slept her way into a good recommendation. If you can’t prove that”—he spread his hands— “it’s irrelevant.”

  “And she has given us a very generous out if things go wrong,” Colvin pointed out.

  “Do you know how much damage someone in that position could do in a month?” Tricker demanded.

  “Do you know how much damage a discrimination lawsuit could do this company?” Warren countered.

  “No one who applied has a better resume,” Colvin pointed out, tapping the table with one finger. “And no one else has offered us a virtual guarantee of satisfaction.”

  “I’ll bet.” Tricker’s expression made it clear what he was thinking.

  “Look, if you were going to pick the head of security no matter what we wanted, why did we even go through this charade?” Warren asked. “We have got other things to do, Tricker.”

  Looking surprised by this onslaught, Tricker raised his hands in a reasoning gesture. “Look, fellas, I’m just trying to point out some of the pitfalls of working with a possible bimbo. Or worse yet, a possible plant from one of your competitors. I was trying to determine if you had at least considered that she might be more trouble than she’s worth.”

  “I think a possible discrimination lawsuit would be even more trouble than it’s worth,” Colvin said.

  “I agree,” Warren said. “Especially since such a suit would seem to be justified in this case.”